Blown up
by fixusi
Summary: Wyatt gets caught in an explosion, and badly injured, needs to fight his way out with Mac. / Just some mindless Wyatt whump with little plot. Definitely not proof-read.


He landed painfully on his back, but he didn't have time to register the pain. The ceiling came down rumbling as huge pieces of concrete fell everywhere around him, and before he could get squashed by one, he swung his body and rolled away. The noise was deafening; all Wyatt could hear was concrete slamming on concrete as the ceiling fell, taking down parts of the wall as it went, but all he could focus on was to stay alive.

There was another explosion, somewhere near the wall where the ash was rising into the air, and suddenly the ceiling above him cracked and gave.

"Shit!" Wyatt gasped as a piece of what used to be a ceiling came down, hard, and he yanked himself to get away but too late. Pain exploded in his foot as the hundred pound slab of concrete came down on it, and Wyatt couldn't suffocate a cry. He let his back hit the floor as he fought the tears of shock forming in his eyes and forced himself to take in a deep breath.

The rumbling quieted but Wyatt barely registered it. His ankle felt like it had been snapped in two, and he wouldn't have been surprised if it was. He'd been in a lot of pain in his life, having spent most of his adulthood getting shot at in some kind of war or chasing after terrorists, so he was no stranger to it. But every time it surprised him; in worst cases the sheer intensity of pain was always enough to throw him off his game for a few seconds before he managed to bring back his training and suck it up. And this was definitely one of those cases.

"Wyatt! Hey, Wyatt, you hear me?" Mac's voice snapped Wyatt back to reality. "Goddamnit, Wyatt! You better fuckin' answer me!"

"Yeah! I'm alive", Wyatt yelled back, relief washing over him. Mac was fine. At least he sounded okay. He hadn't been buried under tons of concrete and who knew what else.

Wyatt lifted himself up on his elbows. Ash and smoke lingered thickly in the air, making it hard to see around himself, but it was clear that the falling rubble had blocked the entrance; and worse, he and Mac were on different sides of the door.

"My comms are down. Probably broke when I fell. Fucking hell", Mac complained from the other side. "Your gun is here, too. You got your sidearm?"

"Shit. Mine are busted too", Wyatt yelled back, grabbing the little earpiece and pocketing it. The faint rattling was annoying. "But I got my handgun", he continued. He could feel his gun sticking into his back underneath his weight. At least something was working out.

Sounds of concrete being dragged echoed through the rubble before Mac groaned. "I can't get to you, it's too heavy to move. You gotta find a way outta there."

Lowering his gaze to his foot, Wyatt grimaced. He couldn't see much, thanks to the oddly shaped slab of concrete on his foot, but whatever was underneath it, it wasn't good. He could see blood forming a little puddle under his ankle and now that he really thought of it, he couldn't feel his foot. His ankle was sore as hell, but his foot was numb, like it hadn't had circulation in hours. "Shit", he muttered, closing his eyes for a brief moment. This wasn't good.

"Hey, you hear me?" Mac asked from the other side, sounding demanding. "I got hostiles incoming. Can you get out of there?"

"I don't know", Wyatt admitted, opening his eyes and glancing around himself. He could probably move the concrete off his foot but there weren't many ways of exiting the small room. There was a window on the far end, and a door leading to a bathroom, but nothing else. "I fucked up my foot. The only exit's a wind—"

Gunfire from the other side of the cut Wyatt off. It came from somewhere further at first, but then he could hear Mac return the fire. Wyatt tried to listen and hear how many there were, but suddenly something exploded and several men screamed before it fell silent again.

Wyatt could feel his heart race. "Mac!" he yelled. He couldn't be—

"Still here, mate. Listen, I can't stay here, it's getting too hot. You got a way out of there?" Mac replied, his voice slightly annoyed. Wyatt could practically see his expression; a mix of that typical arrogance and confidence of a skilled soldier who knew they were good at what they did, but also determination and anger needed to do what they did.

Sighing, Wyatt nodded, more to himself than anything else. He had to do this. Situations like these were why they trained so hard, but nothing really ever prepared a soldier for anything like this. He knew it was going to hurt, but he prayed he'd done this long enough to be able to handle it. He had to.

"Go. I'll figure it out", he finally replied. All the smoke and ash he'd inhaled made his throat dry, his voice raspy, and he coughed. "Get us an exfil and wait for me."

A few gunshots rang out and Wyatt could hear a man yell out something in foreign language, but his yells quickly died down. "Copy that. I'll get as close to you as I can, just be quick", Mac yelled from the other side before a new round of gunshots echoed out and Mac returned the fire. He must've started running for better cover because the sound of him shooting quickly moved further away and soon became just a distant echo.

Wyatt groaned as he pushed himself to sit up. His back hurt from where his gun was, probably from falling directly on top of it when the first explosion had thrown him into this room. But at that moment he had other concerns than an achy back, and he knew it. Looked like the bleeding had stopped or at least slowed down because the puddle of blood hadn't grown any larger, and that was good news. Wouldn't hurt any less moving the concrete or climbing out of there, but at least he wouldn't bleed out.

I can do this, Wyatt thought as he mentally prepared himself. The gunshots faded away and silence fell on him, but for some reason silence was never reassuring to Wyatt. At least when they were exchanging bullets with the enemy there was a lesser chance of someone hiding behind a corner just waiting to attack him before he could even see the threat.

Grabbing the dusty piece of concrete as firmly as he could, Wyatt took a deep breath and with one, fluid movement of both arms he'd flung the concrete off his leg and onto the floor next to it. Pain flared up his calf and he hissed, closing his eyes for a moment to focus on breathing through it. When he could feel the pain subside a little, he opened his eyes and looked at the injury, immediately wishing he hadn't. He couldn't see much because of his boot, but his ankle had twisted to the side - to a direction it should never bend that much. The concrete had torn open the side of his shoe, and blood was slowly seeping out. It was definitely the ugliest injury he'd seen, and he'd seen many; for some reason even limbs torn by a roadside bomb had been prettier, but then again, they'd never been his limbs.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Wyatt grabbed a hold of the wall to have a better balance and carefully stood up. He bent his knee not to touch the ground with his broken foot and looked around himself for anything to use for help, but there wasn't much. Only things in the room aside from Wyatt himself was a dusty couch, a low but long coffee table, equally as dusty, and a shelf with a few wrinkled books on it. Whoever had lived in this house had definitely abandoned it a long time ago.

Wyatt hopped over to the window, keeping close to the wall to stay upright, and then crouched the best he could to peek out. They had been surprised; what he and Mac had thought was a simple, friendly extraction, had quickly turned out to be an ambush. Lowry was smart, he gave her that, and had almost succeeded.

Almost being the key word. He was still alive and, as far as he knew, Mac was too. Lowry definitely needed more than a few dozen men to kill them, but it hadn't stopped her from trying.

Carefully he raised his head and looked out. The whole neighborhood had been empty for quite some time, and even the asphalt road out the back had been partially taken over by grass and different kinds of flowers. The houses had been spray painted and destroyed as much as a bunch of teenagers could, but the windows and doors were still boarded shut - which meant that no enemy would be hiding in them just waiting for Wyatt to jump out.

They'd seen some vehicles down the street and one block over at the far end of the neighborhood, and if Wyatt's guess was right, that's where Mac was heading. It wouldn't take him long to get a car and drive over here, and judging by the silence Mac was either safely on his way there or dead; but knowing Mac and what he was capable of, it definitely wasn't the latter. All Wyatt had to do was wait for Mac to get in sight, jump out the window, limp to the car and get driven to safety.

Grabbing his gun, Wyatt slammed the butt of it through the glass on the window. He needed to be ready to go when Mac came, because there were still more than just a few of hostiles out there and they could have to rush out hot.

Gunshots echoed out from somewhere down the street where Wyatt couldn't see. He tensed up, ready to return fire, when suddenly a tiny, rusty red car sped into his view from the end of the road. Mac.

Wyatt held his gun tighter as he swung his hurt leg out of the window, followed by his still working one, and dropped out. He tried to hit the ground his good foot first but couldn't help his injured one hitting the ground as well. Pain shot up his leg again, burning and feeling like daggers under his skin just ripping the flesh from his bone, and he fell on all fours with a cry. For a moment he couldn't think straight if at all, because the pain just drowned everything else going on inside and around him.

Then there was a loud, angry yell. "Wyatt! You coming or staying?" Mac screamed. He'd stopped the car ten yards from Wyatt but was running towards Wyatt while shooting back at at least ten hostiles rushing towards them.

Mac grabbed Wyatt by the straps of his bulletproof vest and hauled him up. "Come on! We got to go!" he ordered, wrapping his free arm around Wyatt's shoulders while still shooting at the enemy. Slowly they made their way towards the car.

Wyatt looked up. They were so close to the car, just a few more yards and they'd be out of there—

"Shit! Look out!"

A man, on the roof of the house opposite of them. Wyatt only had time to quickly glance at him before Mac shoved him to the ground face first and something swooshed. It was silent for half a second and Wyatt peeked up, curious but concerned—

The bright flash nearly blinded Wyatt as the car exploded. He had no time to react before something hard collided with his face, he felt blood squirt from his nose, and everything went black.

xxx

He woke up to gunfire. He was still lying on the cold asphalt, and opening his eyes he could feel a sting in the back of his head. The rusty red car was on flames near him with tires and other unidentifiable pieces of the car on fire around him. The smoke was thick and grey and smelled like gasoline, but he forced himself to take in a deep breath and roll over to his back.

For a moment he couldn't see Mac, but as he pushed himself up he noticed him fifteen yards out, crouching behind a trash can, shooting at the still standing ten or so men.

Mac must've felt Wyatt's eyes on him because quickly he glanced at Wyatt's direction. "Get to cover!" he barked an order. He had a nasty cut on his forehead, and blood had colored the other side of his face red.

Wyatt climbed to his feet, grimacing as his ankle throbbed painfully in sync with his heartbeat, and hopped over to the wall of the house he'd just escaped from. He let himself lean against the wall as he grabbed the gun from the grass where it had fallen when he jumped and checked the clip. Nine rounds left. It had to be enough.

Quickly he glanced at the rooftop where the man with a rocket launcher had been. He was now laying down with his face to the sky, blood dripping down from the gaping hole in his cheek. Seemed like Mac had taken care of him before he had had the chance to blow them up for good.

Wyatt drew in a breath, mentally preparing himself for the upcoming pain, and then rushed to Mac. He couldn't leave him alone. There were simply too many for Mac to take on on his own.

Falling on his ass next to Mac, Wyatt groaned. His ankle felt as if it was on flames, but he couldn't let it stop him. It was him and Mac against ten of them, and if he let his guard down now, they were both dead.

"You look like absolute crap", Mac commented, firing at the enemies. "You good?"

"Let's just get out of here alive", Wyatt replied, turning so he could see where he aimed. "I got nine bullets left. You got my gun?"

"It was in the car, probably blew up with the rest of it", Mac said, ducking down to take cover. "We got to get somewhere with a better cover. This ain't gonna work. You cover me and I'm going to run for the house on the right, see if I can draw their fire there. Can you do it?"

Wyatt nodded his head. Shooting from two points instead of one was always the better plan, even if sometimes risky. "Just keep running and I'll keep shooting for as long as my bullets last."

Mac bent forward a little and grabbed his own handgun from the back of his pants. Smoothly he took out the clip, handing it to Wyatt. "It's not much but it's all I got to give. Should be a full clip."

"Thanks. I got your back, just go", Wyatt said, meaning it. He was in no shape to move, so they had to clear out the hostiles before they could get out of there, and Mac's plan was the safest bet.

Mac nodded. "Cover me", he said and took of running. Wyatt rose from his cover, ignoring the burning pain in his foot, and squeezed the trigger. One of the men cried and fell as Wyatt's bullet hit him, and Wyatt moved onto the second one. Mac fired as he ran, and with so many bullets coming at the enemies at once, most of them took cover, allowing Mac to reach the yard of the house without getting hit.

Situations like these were no abnormality in the field. Whether it was in Afghanistan fighting an actual war or in some east-european village hunting a terrorist, sometimes the odds were stacked against the good guys and all they could do in those moments was do their job and hope the bad guys didn't have some sort of evil trick up their sleeve. Wyatt had seen a good share of good men fall in battle, some of which had been his own, but there had not been one fight that had seem completely hopeless. Someone might have called him optimistic, but he thought there was a way out of everything; sometimes you just needed to look a little harder.

But as he suddenly saw a truck speeding towards them from the end of the street, he could feel his heart miss a beat. If that truck was loaded with more men, and he knew it was, their game was over. They had no chance of winning this thing.

The gunfire stopped as the bad guys moved aside to give the approaching truck some space.

The truck came to a halt and the doors opened. Eight more men flooded out, guns raised, ready to fight, and instinctively Wyatt looked at Mac. They had no way of communicating without the bad guys hearing them as well, so a look was all he could do.

Mac returned his gaze and shook his head, lifting up his hand with four fingers up. With his other hand he lifted up his gun a little just as he lowered one of the fingers.

It was a countdown, Wyatt realized, and nodded. He readied the weapon in his hands. He had fired four rounds covering for Mac and he still had five in the clip, plus the fifteen in the one he got from Mac. That was 20 bullets, and it had to be enough.

Three.

The eight men stopped in front of the truck. They had little cover there, so most of the men would be easy to get.

Two.

But it was still eighteen or nineteen men to kill, and there were just two of them; and Wyatt couldn't even really move if needed. Wyatt didn't like the odds, but he knew it was possible.

One.

He just needed to aim better than ever before.

Mac nodded shortly and then moved, peeking out of his cover, aiming his gun. He pulled the trigger just as Wyatt emerged from his own cover and aimed, firing a bullet right into the shoulder of one of the men.

One of the bad guys yelled something that sounded like an order and all the men either rushed for cover or lifted up their guns. Wyatt aimed and fired again, careful to make every shot count, and got another man to fall down.

He fired again, and then again, and then ducked into cover to change the clip. As he pulled the empty one out, he saw something from the corner of his eye, but before he could look up, a bullet hit the trash can behind him and a man with a bushy beard and shaved head stood in front of him.

Wyatt froze, knowing the man would shoot a hole through his head before he even had the time to reach for the full clip on the ground next to him. He lowered his gun and raised his hands up, the only rational thing he could do in that crazy moment. "You don't have to do this", he said, staring the man who held his fate right in the eye. "Just put down the gun and we'll—"

A gunshot rang out and the man's brains splattered all across the wall beside them. Wyatt flinched and swirled around to see Mac still by his own cover on the other side of the street, his gun aimed at the man who now fell to the ground, dead. Quickly Mac turned his focus back to the men in front of them and Wyatt grabbed his gun and the clip, getting back into the action.

Despite the pain he pushed himself to his knees and aimed his gun to shoot one of the guys so set on murdering them, when suddenly one of them fired first and the bullet hit Wyatt in the shoulder. It wasn't hard enough to knock him off his knees but the exploding pain made him cry out and drop down, clasping his hand over his bleeding shoulder. "Shit!" he cursed out loud, feeling the warm blood against the palm of his hand, and drew in a shaky breath. He had to focus. If he gave in to the pain and despair now, he would never get out of here alive, and neither would Mac. He had to fight until either the last bullet was fired and the last piece of hope was gone or they won.

With a groan he took a better grip of his gun, rose back on his knees and aimed, firing at the guy who shot him. He got him in the neck and without hesitation he fired again, this time hitting him in the head.

There were ten of the men still standing. He kept firing, missing with a few bullets but hitting with most, and Mac did the same, until finally there were only three of them on their feet.

Wyatt ducked and leaned his back against the trash can. He had counted his bullets and he still had four left. Not many, but it had to be enough. Blood was still seeping out of the wound and it had stained his shirt dark red, but all the adrenaline in his system made him barely feel the pain anymore. He knew that when the situation calmed he'd crash and feel the effects of the blood loss, but right now he had no time to focus on it. He had no idea if there were more men on the way, so he and Mac needed to be swift and effective.

Raising to shoot at the men, Wyatt noticed one of the men holding something in his hand; something that resembled a flash bang scarily much. The man was about to throw it in Mac's general direction, so quickly Wyatt pulled the trigger - a second too late. The man flung the metal tube into the air just as the bullet hit his chest and he fell. "Mac! Flash bang!" Wyatt screamed, glancing at his crouching friend.

Mac's eyes widened and he rushed out of his cover just as the flash bang hit the ground five yards away from him. Mac dove to the ground, hands over his ears, as the flash bang went off with a loud crackling noise and bright flashing lights.

The other man rushed for Mac's direction while the other shot at Wyatt, making sure Wyatt was of no help to his friend. "Incoming! Fuck!" Wyatt yelled, knowing he had to act or it was over, and despite the bullets flying at him he rose from his cover and shot at the man running to gun down Mac. He heard the man cry out in pain and quickly Wyatt ducked again, just as a bullet flew over his head, missing him by just a couple of inches.

Two bullets left, and Mac was on all fours on the ground, trying to gather his strength, not of much help. Wyatt could only imagine how much his ears hurt and sight blurred; getting caught in a flash bang was unpleasant at best.

"Mac!" Wyatt yelled, not able to wait any longer. The last of the men was still out there and they needed to take care of him fast. "Hey, you okay?"

Mac nodded his head yes and slowly got up, glancing at the seemingly empty road in front of them. Wherever the man was, he was nowhere to be seen; and that was never good. Quickly Mac ran across the road and back to Wyatt.

"There's still one", Wyatt told Mac as he crouched down. "I don't know where he went."

"Doesn't matter, we're getting the hell away from here", Mac said, eyeing Wyatt's shoulder with a twinkle of worry in his gaze. "You good to move?"

Wyatt nodded. "I'm gonna need some help."

"The truck's just over there", Mac pointed out. "What do you bet the key's still in there?"

Suddenly realizing Mac was right, Wyatt grinned through the slowly emerging pain. Adrenaline was starting to wear off, and he could feel it. "Let's go."

Mac stood up and grabbed Wyatt by the good arm, pulling him up. Wyatt allowed Mac to help him stand, mostly because he knew he wouldn't be able to otherwise, and together they made their way to the truck. Helping Wyatt in, Mac closed his door and then circled to the driver's seat himself. The keys were, just as Mac has said, still in the ignition.

Wyatt held his hand on his bleeding shoulder as he glanced at Mac. He could help a relieved grin. "Definitely been on better missions."

"You saying this isn't the definition of a successful mission?" Mac asked as he turned the key. "We're still alive, aren't we?"

"Barely", Wyatt said and closed his eyes as his shoulder suddenly sent a jolt of pain down his arm. Adrenaline was definitely wearing thin.

The truck's engine coughed and the whole car shook before the engine died down. "Fuck!" Mac cursed in frustration as he slammed the dashboard with his fist. "We just can't catch a damn break."

Wyatt opened his eyes to look at Mac. The blood loss was making him a little light headed, but he tried his best to fight against it. "You sure you did it right?"

"I know how to start a damn car."

"I was just saying. Don't be such an asshole."

"It's not working, let's go", Mac said, defensive, and grabbed his gun before hopping out.

As Wyatt stretched out to open his own door, Mac had already circled the truck to him. "Where do you think he went?" Wyatt asked as Mac helped him out.

"Who cares, as long as he's out of our way", Mac replied and sighed, looking around himself at the suddenly very quiet neighborhood. It was clear on his face that he was trying to think of a plan. "I'm gonna search these idiots for a phone to call the boss. The other cars were no good."

Gently Mac let go of Wyatt and let him lean against the truck's side. His eyes wandered onto the gunshot wound for a brief second before he looked back at Wyatt, the look on his face surprisingly soft. "You really need to get that to stop bleeding."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna stuff a dirty rag into it", Wyatt replied. He knew it needed to be taken care of, as well as his ankle, but there was nothing he could do to his injuries right now. "Just find us a way out of here, I'll be fine."

"Copy that", Mac replied and headed off to the more than dozen bloody corpses lying on the rough concrete.

Wyatt held his gun tighter in his injured hand as he raised his good hand onto the wound. It was all he could do, and it wasn't much. He knew he still had time before he would actually be in danger, because the bullet obviously hadn't opened up any major blood vessels, but blood loss wasn't exactly a good thing in a battle, either. It made you light headed, nauseous, and weak, all of which were things you couldn't afford when exchanging bullets with a strong enemy.

"Hands up and don't make a sound or I will shoot your fucking head."

Wyatt swirled around to see their lost guy standing a few yards from him at the truck's end. The huge, muscular guy had his rifle pointed at Wyatt's head and you didn't need to be a trained soldier to know that one of those heavy bullets was enough to split your head in two from such a close range.

"Gun down. Now", the man continued quietly with a thick east-european accent, and Wyatt obeyed, crouching down to gently lay his gun on the ground. "Hands up."

"Don't do this", Wyatt said as the man rushed to him and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him so he wasn't facing the man anymore, but Mac, who was standing fifteen yards away with his back to them. "You're gonna regret this, man."

The man chuckled, shoving Wyatt forward a bit. His foot hit the ground and Wyatt cried out, and would have fallen down if it wasn't for the man's grip of his shirt keeping him on his feet.

Mac must have heard the cry because in half a second he'd swirled around and pointed his gun at the man. Realization sunk fast as he saw the man's tight grasp of Wyatt. "Let him go."

"I do not think so", the man replied, yanking Wyatt a bit closer and wrapping his arm around his throat. With his free arm he lifted up his gun and aimed it at Mac. "Put the gun down, or I will shoot you and then your friend."

"Don't", Wyatt said tightly, staring Mac into the eyes. He could see that Mac was worried, maybe even a bit scared - and who could blame him? He's lost his entire team to this guy's employer and he probably wasn't looking forward to seeing more of his teammates die. But that made him unpredictable. Sometimes they needed to make tough choices and if Mac wasn't able to do them… "Just take the shot, Mac, come on—"

With the arm the guy had wrapped around Wyatt's throat, he quickly grabbed the gunshot wound on his shoulder and forced his finger in. Wyatt's sentence was cut short as pain flared in his shoulder and he cried out, the sudden rush of adrenaline forcing him to act on instinct - he shot forward and ducked down, ripping himself from the man's grasp. He saw Mac tense up and get ready to fire, but he hesitated for a second too long waiting for Wyatt to move out of the way, giving the man just enough time to grab Wyatt again and pull him close. Without hesitation the larger man grabbed the back of Wyatt's head and slammed his face into the truck's side before grabbing him by the throat again.

Wyatt groaned as he tasted blood in his mouth. Shit. He'd missed his chance and now who knew what was going to happen?

"Gun down, now!" the man yelled and Mac turned his gun away from the man, moving his arms to the sides in a surrendering manner.

"Okay, okay, I'm putting the gun down", Mac said as he slowly lowered his gun to the ground, his eyes on the man holding Wyatt. "Just stay calm, okay? No need to-"

"Mac, come on!" Wyatt protested, feeling the man tighten his grip. He grasped at the man's arm, desperate. Any tighter and he wouldn't be able to breathe. "Mac!"

"Shut up", Mac ordered, not tearing his eyes from the man. He kept his arms up, looking as non threatening as he could. "What now, hm? What happens now? You kill us?"

"No", the man said. His arm didn't waver as he held the rifle up and pointed at Mac. "I do not want to kill you. My boss wants to talk to you."

Wyatt groaned. "Fucking perfect", he muttered. He knew he had to do something, anything, but he risked getting Mac shot. He wasn't sure if the reward was worth the risk, because even if Mac got on all of his nerves at times, they were a team. Yes, Mac might've stabbed him once, but Mac had also saved his ass countless of times, and all those times didn't count for nothing. They were a team and they looked out for each other.

He knew he needed to act. He just needed to make sure Mac was out of the line of fire first.

Or…

"Don't worry, Mac, he wouldn't have been able to kill us anyways. The guy's a coward", Wyatt said and smirked. "Look at him. Hiding behind me and that rifle, what kind of man does that? He knows he'd never beat us in a fair fight. Even I could take him on and look at me, I'm a fucking mess."

Mac furrowed his brows. "Wyatt…", he started.

Wyatt could feel the man's grip on his throat tighten just a little. It was working.

"What? It's the truth", Wyatt continued. "He's all muscle and no brains or coordination. Did you see the way he tried to shoot at us? Couldn't hit a wall from two feet away."

"Shut up", the man suddenly barked and swirled Wyatt around, punching him in the face so hard Wyatt's head snapped to the opposite direction before he collapsed against the front of the truck. But his plan had worked and through the pain he grabbed the rifle by the barrel and twisted it down. "Mac, now!" he yelled, but suddenly the man pushed the rifle forward and slammed it into Wyatt's stomach.

He felt the air escape his lungs and he grunted as the man grabbed him by the head and slammed his face into the hood of the car again before letting go. Wyatt collapsed to the ground as the man lifted up his gun, but Mac had acted as asked and gotten his gun.

There were five gunshots as Mac squeezed the trigger. The man's rifle fell as he stumbled back, holding his chest now full of bullet sized holes, and then fell back.

Mac lowered his gun and rushed to Wyatt. "Wyatt. Hey, you hear me?" he asked as he crouched next to his friend, helping him sit up with his back to the wheel of the truck. "You're fucking stupid, you know that, right?"

"You owe me a beer", Wyatt said and laughed through the pain in his face. He felt blood pool out of his nose and somewhere else on his face, but he couldn't care less. He was alive. He'd survived.

"For what? You got us into this mess to begin with", Mac pointed out and grinned. "You owe me three. I think that's how many times I saved your ass this past half an hour."

"Three? Come on", Wyatt replied. He was really light headed now, and he hated it. It felt like the whole world was spinning around him, as if he was drunk. "Just get us outta here and we'll see."

"Copy that", Mac said, patting Wyatt on his good shoulder before standing up. "Just hang in there, mate, okay? We're gonna get you out of here."

xxx

The recovery hadn't been easy. His ankle had required two surgeries and three screws within the first three weeks and while his team was out saving the world, he was lying on a hospital bed bored to death. But by the time the fifth week was nearing its end his ankle had gotten so much better the doctors were calling it a miracle. He was still far from fine and even further from being able to work in the field again, but he was getting there. The bullet had fractured his collarbone but it had healed nicely, and the bruises on his face were long gone, so the only things reminding him of the whole ordeal were the cast around his ankle and Mac's remarks.

Wyatt's day started as usual, with the nurse coming to check the cast and give him a dose of some magnificent painkillers directly to the bloodstream. His ankle was still giving him shit, but the painkillers kept most of the ache away without making him sleepy or groggy. At noon the nurse brought him lunch, some chicken, pasta, and bread, and in the afternoon the doctor came to give Wyatt the latest updates. The screws had done their job and they could be taken out in a few days. It was good news.

"Thanks, doc", Wyatt said with a polite smile as the old doctor nodded, clutching this clipboard.

"You're a lucky man, mister Wyatt. I was afraid there was nothing I could do for your foot, but I'm happy I was proven wrong", the doctor said. Wyatt really liked this doctor, and not only because he was genuinely friendly. There was something in the old man that just gave off such hope and joy. "I'm positive you'll be running around again in no time."

Wyatt nodded. "I hope so, sir."

The door to the small room opened and instinctively Wyatt turned to look. Mac stepped in with a plastic bag in his hand, his gaze going from Wyatt to the doctor. "Good afternoon, doctor", he said and closed the door behind him. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, not at all", the doctor said with a warm smile. "I was just about to leave. I just came in to tell mister Wyatt he's going to be fine."

"That's good to hear", Mac said, giving room to the doctor as he headed for the door.

The doctor grabbed the door handle but stopped and turned around, glancing at Wyatt. "I'll come by to tell you when we're good to take out the screws. Until then, stay in bed. Okay?"

"Yes, sir", Wyatt replied. "Thank you."

"No problem", the doctor said and left, closing the door as he went.

Mac turned to Wyatt and pulled himself a chair, sitting next to his friend. He lowered the plastic bag gently on the floor in front of his feet and reached down into it. "So you're gonna be fine, huh?"

Wyatt couldn't help a little grin. "Seems that way."

"Good. And I got some more good news", Mac replied, looking at Wyatt with a genuine grin. "We did it. It's over."

"You got him?" Wyatt asked, not believing his ears. Mac had kept him updated of everything that went down while he was recovering, and for a moment all the leads had gotten cold to the point the whole fight they were fighting had felt pointless. They'd come so close to losing and now, suddenly and almost out of nowhere, Mac was telling him they had done it.

Mac nodded his head excitedly. "Damn right we got him. It's over, Wyatt. We won", he said and finally pulled something out of his plastic bag - a six pack of beer. "Time to celebrate, mate. We did it."

Wyatt was genuinely happy for them, he was - but there was a sting of something, maybe guilt, in his heart. They had done it, they had risked their lives out there while he had been lying there doing absolutely nothing. They deserved to celebrate, not him. He knew he'd done his fair share to help, but in the end it was Mac, Novin and Reynolds who caught the almost-terrorist, not him. But instead of saying any of it out loud, he simply smiled. "Congratulations, Mac. You did it."

"Hey, you're an ass, you know that, right?" Mac asked as he handed one of the beers to Wyatt. "We all did it, alright? You, me, Novin, Reynolds, hell, even Jensen helped. So stop that and drink up."

Grinning a little, Wyatt nodded. He wasn't sure if he should be drinking with the pain meds, but he hadn't had a single drop of alcohol in five and a half weeks. Mac handed him a lighter and smoothly Wyatt opened the bottle with the thing, brought the beer up and met Mac's eyes. "To winning."

"Think bigger", Mac said, opened his own bottle and lifted it up as well. "To saving the whole damn world."

Wyatt snorted. "You're so humble."

"Why deny the truth?" Mac asked, grinned, and brought the bottle to his lips. "Cheers."

"Cheers", Wyatt replied, taking down a gulp of beer. It was cold and, even though the brand wasn't what he usually went for, delicious. He couldn't suffocate a little sigh as he lowered the bottle. "That's good. Thanks."

"Yeah, don't mention it", Mac said, shifting on the chair a little to get a better position. "So, when are you getting out of here?"

Wyatt scoffed and shrugged. He looked into Mac's curious eyes; it was clear he had something on his mind, but Wyatt had no idea, what. "I don't know. One more week, maybe. Why?"

Shrugging, Mac played it off like it was nothing. "Just wondering'. You've been in here for what, a bit over a month?"

"You're a shitty liar, Mac. Just tell me", Wyatt said.

"A shitty liar? May I remind you who kept their cover with Josef Varga?" Mac asked, a teasing, competitive expression on his face.

Wyatt laughed. "Yeah, only because you blamed it on me."

"Well, you weren't saving the situation. I did what I had to."

"You stabbed me."

"Didn't want to."

"And then you blew your cover."

"Trying to do my job. If the gun hadn't been empty…"

"Just admit it", Wyatt said and laughed, "the thing with the Ultra isn't really a good example of your lying skills."

Mac grinned, lowered his gaze, and nodded. "Whatever makes you feel better."


End file.
